by Robyn Grady
‘I believe you were expecting me. I’m Libby Henderson. I was just admiring your home and gardens.’
He surveyed the vast front lawns and nodded as a gentle harbour breeze lifted dark blond hair off his brow. ‘I always enjoy my stints in Australia,’ he said. ‘The weather’s brilliant.’ Gorgeous soft grey eyes hooked back onto hers as he cocked his head. ‘I’d offer you my hand but …’
‘Your right shoulder’s giving you problems.’
‘Nothing too serious,’ he said, stepping aside to welcome her in.
Entering the foyer, which gave the modest size of her Manly apartment a decent run for its money, Libby considered his last comment. If Mr Wolfe’s in jury had been enough to land him in hospital and warrant subsequent intensive treatment ordered by his team doctor, clearly it was serious enough. Her job was to make certain that full range of motion and strength returned and, despite any downplaying on his part, that’s precisely what she intended to do. Men like Alex Wolfe wanted to get back to it, and now. She understood that.
Unfortunately, however, sometimes that wasn’t possible.
Forcing herself not to gape at the storybook multi-tiered staircase or the mirror-polished marble floors, Libby instead turned to her host as he closed the twelve-foot-high door. She suppressed a wry grin. Must be the butler’s day off.
‘Can I offer you a refreshment, Ms Henderson?’
As he passed to lead her through the spacious white, almost austere vestibule, Libby’s thoughts stuck on what should have been a simple question. But his tone implied that rather than coffee, any refreshment he offered might include something as social as champagne.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she replied, unable to keep her gaze from straying to the fluid style of his gait in those delectable custom-made black trousers as he moved off. Would he detect any peculiarities in her stride if their positions were reversed—she in front, he behind?
But surely a man who’d dated super models and at least one European princess wouldn’t be interested enough to notice.
‘We’ll talk in the sunroom.’ Stopping before a set of double doors, he fanned open one side and she moved through.
After he’d closed this door too, he headed for a U-shaped group of three snowy-white leather couches. Beyond soaring arched windows sat that magnificent outdoor pool she’d imagined as well as a glamorous spa and stylish white wicker setting. A pool house, which mimicked the main building’s design, looked large enough to accommodate a family of four as well as friends. Positioned beyond the pool area was a massive storage block—she suspected a huge garage. All the world knew Mr Wolfe liked his cars.
He gestured to the closest couch. ‘Please make yourself comfortable.’
Libby lowered back against the cushions and set her feet neatly together. Rather than taking up position on the opposite couch, Alex Wolfe settled down alongside of her. A flush crept up her neck and lit her cheeks. This man’s magnetism was a tangible, remarkable thing.
His proximity to her on this couch couldn’t be deemed as inappropriate—at least an arm’s length separated them—and yet she couldn’t ignore the pull. Not that Mr Wolfe would purposely be sending out those kinds of vibes. He was simply … well, he was only …
Oh, dammit, he was sexy—beyond anything she’d ever experienced before.
As a film of perspiration cooled her nape, Libby edged an inch away while, holding the sling’s elbow, Alex stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. His feet were large, the shoes Italian. She noticed those things nowadays.
‘So, Ms Henderson, what do you have for me?’
‘I’ve studied the MRI scans,’ she began, her gaze tracing the line of that sling, ‘as well as the orthopaedic surgeon’s report outlining the details of the injury. Seems your shoulder didn’t suffer a complete dislocation, but rather a subluxation. Do you know what that means?’
‘My shoulder didn’t pop completely.’
She nodded. ‘In layman’s terms, that’s precisely it.’
When that amazing subtle smile lighting his eyes touched his mouth, Libby’s tummy fluttered and she cleared her throat. Yes, he’s an incredibly attractive man but, for God’s sake, concentrate! Her goal here wasn’t to get all starry-eyed but to have Alex Wolfe walk away from this episode fully recovered and bursting with glowing reports of her services.
Hopefully, then, more of his ilk would follow and her reputation in her present career would be secured.
When she’d returned to her studies, she’d decided she wanted to work with elite athletes, that special breed that needed someone who not only understood how their bodies worked but also their minds, and who were prepared to do whatever it took to get back on top.
Libby only wished she’d been given that option.
Centring her attention again, she threaded her fingers and set them on her lap. ‘Your medical records outline ligament damage to that shoulder in your teens.’
His eyes clouded over for an instant, so stormy and distant she might have mentioned the devil. But then his smile returned, and more hypnotic than before.
‘I came off a motorbike.’
She nodded. A natural thrillseeker, of course he’d have started out on two wheels. ‘I see.’
‘Do you like motor sports?’
‘I was more a water girl.’
‘Swimming? Skiing?’
That flush returned, a hot rash creeping over the entire length of her body. Feeling colour soak into her cheeks, she glanced down, unclasped her hands and smoothed the centre creases of her trousers. They weren’t here to discuss her history.
‘I have another appointment this afternoon, so perhaps we’d best stay on point.’
His gaze sharpened, assessing her, and he sat back. ‘I imagine your practice keeps you busy, Ms Henderson.’
‘Busy enough.’
‘But not on weekends.’
‘I work some Saturdays.’
‘Not Sundays?’
She blinked. ‘You think you’ll need me Sundays too?’
‘Let’s make it every weekday for now.’
‘Much of the work you can do without my help. Every second day would be sufficient.’
‘Every week day,’ he reiterated before smiling again. ‘Don’t worry, Ms Henderson. I promise my current predicament is extremely short-term.’
Libby’s breath left her lungs in a quiet rush. This man was a living legend. Revered by millions all over the world. He was the sporting hero that boys chasing one another in parks pretended to be. Was he being intentionally snide? Or just plain ‘I am invincible’ arrogant?
Libby knew better than most.
No one was invincible.
‘We were discussing your previous injury,’ she went on in an implacable tone, ‘which could well have made you more susceptible to subsequent injuries. Let me explain.’ She shifted back against the cushions. ‘A joint dislocation, or luxation from the Latin, occurs when bones that join become displaced or misaligned usually through a sudden impact. The joint capsule, cartilage and ligaments become damaged. A subluxation, as occurred in your situation, Mr Wolfe, is a partial dislocation, which can occur as a result of previous damage to the surrounding structures of the shoulder. Either way there will be a weakening of the muscles and ligaments which need physiotherapy to help stabilise the joint.’
He was looking at her, his head slightly angled, a peculiar, flattering gleam in his eyes.
‘I see.’
She held her breath against an unbidden flare of emotion, cleared her throat and focused again. ‘With your hands on the wheel, the impact from the accident jarred your right humerus, which then sat anteriorly from the—’
His deep soft laugh interrupted her. ‘Rewind a little, doc.’
‘I’m not a doctor.’ She wanted to be clear on her qualifications. ‘I have a Bachelor of Health Sciences with honours and am a member of the Australian Physiotherapy Association.’
‘And for now you are the lady who holds my futur
e in the palm of her hand. I’ll call you “doc.” With your permission, of course.’
Libby stiffened. Talk about pressure. But then, he was paying the bill. She gave a hesitant half-shrug.
‘I suppose … if it makes you feel more comfortable.’
His gaze dipped to her lips, then caught her eyes again. ‘So— doc—you were saying.’
‘Your humerus—’ She stopped and bunched one hand to demonstrate. ‘The ball slid partially out of its joint and needed to be manipulated back into the centre of your glenoid cavity, or socket.’ She cupped her palm, pushed her fist in and locked the ‘ball,’ then disengaged it again.
‘Right. The ball—’ his own hand bunched ‘—goes into the socket.’ He fit his big hard hot fist inside her still-elevated palm.
At the instant of contact, Libby’s internal alarm blared and she jerked away.
Their eyes locked—his questioning, hers, she knew, wide and exposed. That tingling in her belly had intensified and the suddenly sensitive tips of her breasts tightened and ached.
But when one corner of his mouth hooked up the barest amount, Libby was brought back. As casually as possible, she scooped some hair behind an ear and willed her cantering heartbeat to slow. Crazy to even consider but …
Was he flirting with her? She couldn’t be sure. He was a superstar and …
It’d been such a long time.
Her last intimate relationship had ended four months after her accident. She’d thought fellow pro surfer Scott Wilkinson had been the sexist man alive, but Scott was an amateur compared to Alex Wolfe. This man’s power to captivate with a simple look, the slightest touch, was palpable. She’d like to meet the woman who was immune to the magic of that smile. Charm was as instinctive to this man as his taking a corner at death-defying speeds.
That wasn’t to imply he would in any way be interested in checking her track out, so to speak.
More to the point, she wasn’t interested in a quick spin with him either.
Schooling her features, Libby straightened her spine and focused on business. ‘We’ll need to concentrate on a series of strengthening rehabilitative exercises.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘When would you like to begin, Mr Wolfe?’
‘Call me Alex.’
A perfectly reasonable request, she decided, noticing how his grey eyes seemed to sparkle at her nod of accent. ‘What if I set up a timetable—?’
‘I thought we could start tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow’s fine.’ Her voice lowered to a serious note. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that we’ll need to work hard. Consistently.’
‘I’ve no doubt you’ll bring me through in time.’
Frowning, she cast her mind back. Had she overlooked something?
‘In time for what?’
‘I’ll miss Round Three this weekend.’ A muscle in his cheek flexed twice. ‘Can’t be helped, I’m afraid. Round Four’s three weeks subsequent to that.’
Libby almost laughed. He was joking. But while his expression might be relaxed, the set of his square jaw was firm. He’d never been more serious in his life.
‘I was told you’d been declared unfit by your team’s doctor to drive professionally for at least six weeks.’
‘We’ll prove him wrong.’
She sat forward. He should be set straight.
‘Your trackside physician wasn’t able to perform the reduction. As you’d have been told many times now, delay can cause complications. An axial view showed stripping of the inferior glenoid and rotator cuff tearing …’
Her words dropped away as any patience she’d seen in his eyes on the subject cooled.
‘My assistant informs me,’ he said, ‘that your clients think you perform miracles.’
‘I’m not a saint, Mr Wolfe.’
‘ Alex. And, believe me, I’m not after a saint.’
His eyes smouldered and that hot pulse in her belly squeezed and sizzled. When the beating slid to a lower dangerous point, Libby pushed to her feet, too quickly as it turned out.
She tipped to one side and threw out an arm to steady herself. But Alex Wolfe was already there, standing close, an arm circling her waist, his solid frame effortlessly providing the support she needed.
She was five-six, but she had to arc her neck way back to look into his face … which was a mistake. When those entrancing lidded eyes fused with hers, she imagined that his hold around her middle cinched, bringing her front to within a hair’s-breadth of his … close to his chest … to those legs.
Giddy, she broke his hold and took two steps back.
As she willed the fire from her face and got herself together, he asked, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Perfectly. Thank you.’ Shifting the bangs off her cheeks, she gathered herself and resumed a businesslike air. ‘I presume you know where my practice is.’
‘All treatments will be conducted here.’
Her brows shot up. ‘My equipment’s at work.’
‘I’ll be honest.’ His free hand slid into his trouser pocket and his legs braced wider apart. ‘I’m concerned about the press. I have enough on my mind without watching out for headlines speculating on whether I’m a washed-up cripple.’
Her insides wrenching, Libby flinched.
In the second it took to compose her expression, Alex frowned as if he’d glimpsed and wondered at her lapse. With knees locked, she offered an indulgent smile.
‘I understand you might want to shield yourself. But I’m afraid—’
‘Everything you need will be brought in. I’ll have my assistant organise it. And I’ll double your fee to cover any inconvenience and time difficulties.’
She shut her dropped jaw.
Was she reading him right? Double your fee …? We’ll prove him wrong …? You’ll bring me through …? Did he think he could bribe her into cutting short his treatment so he could make his Round Four? Clearly Alex Wolfe wasn’t familiar with the terms caution or compromise. He knew only one way to get things done. His way. If she didn’t agree to his conditions—his offer—no doubt he’d find someone who would.
Which left her two choices.
She could bow to the inevitable, agree that all work be carried out on his private premises and take the fortune he offered as well as give the all clear when he deemed, whether he was fit to return to driving in her opinion or not. Or she could tell him she couldn’t be manipulated by his charm or his pride. That her ethics were more important to her than money. More important than anything.
But there was a third option.
Decided, she looked him in the eye. ‘I’ll speak with your assistant. Get the ball rolling.
We’ll start tomorrow morning.’
A shadow swept over his expression, so fast she almost missed it. She recognised the emotion. Disappointment. He’d thought she’d put up more of a fight before capitulating to his terms, even for show’s sake. Pity she couldn’t set him straight, but that would come … when the time was right.
She headed for the door. ‘I’ll be back in the office in half an hour. Your assistant can call me any time after that.’
With long fluid strides he caught up, a satisfied smile tilting his lips. ‘I do believe I’ll enjoy working with you, doc.’
Doc. Walking side by side down the hall, Libby grinned.
‘Perhaps I ought to wear a white coat and stethoscope when I call next,’ she said, a slightly mocking edge to her voice.
‘Feel free to wear whatever makes you comfortable. I will.’
‘Oh, there won’t be much need for clothes,’ she said, stopping before the front doors.
‘On your part, at least.’
His hold on the handle froze.
Swallowing the grin, she brushed his hand aside, opened the door and stepped out.
‘See you tomorrow. Nine sharp.’
Walking away, she felt his surprise and curiosity drilling her back. But if her last comment was loosely inappropriate, she was ok
ay with it. He’d needed to be pulled up and using his own level of language.
Alex Wolfe didn’t know how well she understood his mind. She knew about burning passions. About setting a goal and never losing sight of it. She also knew how it felt to lose the capacity to chase and hold onto your dream. To have to reinvent yourself and leave that other more natural you behind.
Six weeks rehabilitation? Hell, Alex Wolfe didn’t know how lucky he was.
But slow and steady won the race. This race anyway. She’d get him into a routine, he’d feel the positive results and when the time came she’d make him see how detrimental—possibly catastrophic—returning to the track too soon could be. Until then she’d be on her guard. She couldn’t deny that those subtle looks, his unmistakable body language, his casual touch, affected her, and Alex knew it. He assumed he could manipulate her, charm her, perhaps even intimidate her into getting what he wanted.
Unfortunately for Alex Wolfe … not a chance.
Libby slid into the driver’s seat. She was about to turn the ignition when her stomach twisted, like it had earlier when he’d tossed off that unconscious slap in the face. Her hand ran down her left thigh, over the patella. Then her fingertips traced the line where she and the lower limb prosthesis became one.
Washed-up cripple …
Long ago she had finished crying and asking herself, What did I do to deserve this?
With the support of family, friends and professionals she’d moved from beneath those dark clouds of self-pity. Helping to rehabilitate others had brought new and worthwhile meaning to her life. But sitting here, remembering the gleam in Alex Wolfe’s eyes when he’d looked at her that certain way, she couldn’t mistake the pang in her chest or the choking thickness in her throat.
Her hand skimmed the shin she couldn’t feel.
Would Alex Wolfe see her as less of a woman if he knew?
Chapter Three
Leaning his good shoulder against a patio column, Alex kept his eye on Libby Henderson’s silver sedan as it looped the circular drive and headed out. An intrigued smile lifted one corner of his mouth.
